


Fierce Reunion

by Mssilverwoods



Category: The Durrells (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 06:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19168069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mssilverwoods/pseuds/Mssilverwoods
Summary: Reunion, a long meal and that tree in the garden.





	Fierce Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> An alternative, pointless smutty reunion that was meant to go into Fierce Journey.

The meal seems to go on for hours. 

It many ways it’s a blessing. It gives her time to collect her thoughts. Six days ago she was crouched by the radio listening to the World Service, now she’s seated at a table in a war torn Corfu reunited with her lover whom she last saw three years, eight months and 5 days ago. 

In the days in between she found out that it was still perilous to travel unless one had necessary papers which Larry, with some well placed ego-boosting words, was able to provide through his contacts. Margo thought it terribly romantic as she waved her mother and eldest brother off at Victoria station with Gerry looking concerned beside her. Next thing she recalls is seeing Spiro in Athens. 

The carousel of images from her journey all take time to slot into a neat show. Kissing like teenagers on the ferry with Spiro overshadows all the other memories, the taste of him and being held in his arms finally. Before they had time to make plans, they were welcomed onto Corfu harbour along with many others on this, the first predominately civilian ferry since the uneasy truce had been tentatively agreed. Swept up into the marketplace and bundled onto chairs around makeshift tables, she and Spiro are too polite to say no.

Louisa has felt every hair on her body stand on spikes through every serving. There aren’t many. Food is precious and what there is, a soup and stuffed vine leaves, are frugal portions but someone - Larry perhaps - has secured wine. Thus the speeches from Theo and their Greek neighbours have become more emotive and longer. She's barely touched a drop and Spiro has remained sober too. He has sat diligently next to her, politely chatting but all the while his leg is pressed against hers. As soon as the speeches started, he pulled her onto his lap and held her tight, revealing the poorly kept secret of their love to the crowd.

Louisa knows he wants to escape too. Beneath her, Spiro is strung tight, a spring waiting to leap up. It’s as if she’s holding him down. Once she would have loved this Greek party. She does, it’s a kind gesture, but she can’t help wish they could slip away. She wants to climb inside his very soul and yet, here they are.

Louisa lets out a quiet groan as the party decides it is time to dance. The thought of dancing with anyone else bores her, with him it’ll be a delicious agony that neither can bear. 

‘Spiro, your guitar!’ Florence cries out, ‘you must get it.’

‘It’s at the villa!’ Spiro spies his chance and grabs Louisa’s hand before anyone can lend him theirs. He speeds them in the taxi, on the dark roads towards home explaining that he moved into her old home during the intervening years.

‘We’re not going back are we?’ Louisa raises an eyebrow as he parks the car outside the villa.

He winks at her as he opens the taxi door, ‘Where do you want me to take you?’

‘Heaven.’ She murmurs into the corner of his mouth, vividly remembering their time on the beach in 1939.

Spiro kisses her gently, ‘I know the way.’

In the cool night air, the villa is completely quiet. They pause beside the olive tree where she asked him to call her by her christened name. He seems to remember, ’Finally alone, Louisa.’ 

‘Finally,’ She agrees, ‘I want to see the house, but I want you…’ She trails off, arrested by a need she hasn’t felt for the time they’ve been apart. Hasn’t dared to feel until today.

Spiro is watchful as his arms reach out to either side of her as she leans back against the tree. To his delight she quells his doubts by grabbing his collar and pulling him closer. Despite his feet stood firmly on the ground, Spiro feels like he is falling, his desire pushing him over the edge, away from the safety of any behaviour he would classify as normal but in this war torn world, after years apart, what is normal? Speeding to the mainland when it’s not necessarily safe is hardly sane. 

He shakes his head to clear the jumble of love muddled with relief and anchors himself by resting his chin on the top of her head. Below him, her eyes close as his breath moves her hair and after a while he moves away and drinks her in. This moment, the renewal after separation, cannot be repeated, for he never wants her to leave his side again. He wants to treasure it for a second longer. 

Louisa takes the opportunity to gaze at him and then along his arms, to his hands, next to her head. Strong and yet tender, sometimes tight with pride. His hands. 

She remembers his fingertips touching hers, that first time they met on the dusty road from the harbour. The endless times that he kissed the backs of her hands and the look in his eyes when he raised his head. When did she first notice that he never did that with any other woman. Ah yes, that Italian family. How she has ached to have those hands in hers and holding her for all those years apart. 

She reaches up to take a firm hold on those hands now. Her breath catches in her throat as his dark eyes flash and flutter shut, welcoming her rain of kisses. His face fills her vision and she drinks in every detail, from his dark hair ever so slightly tussled, the tiny scar on his forehead from that cricket ball, another on the outside corner of his left eye, to his kissable mouth and the dimple in his left cheek that appears when he’s amused. This extraordinary and beautiful man who is all hers.

'Louisa.' There is desire in the way he says name, uttered from his lips in his warm accent. Nobody can say her name like that and render such an innocent word so obscene.

‘Spiro.’ She slides her fingers down his face, along his jaw line, feeling the softness of his stubble and he nuzzles into her touch causing her to shiver. Her gazes cannot leave his, as he captures her thumb in his lips and sucks it. Trembling, Louisa finds herself beset with want for him. The glint in his eyes tells her that he knows exactly what he is doing. She will follow him anywhere now. He is impossible to resist. 

Finally Spiro lets her thumb go but she barely has time to catch her breath before he kisses her. His tongue lazily tracing the fullness of her lips before sliding down into the wet warmth of her inviting mouth. In and out, he strokes her tongue with his until they are dizzy from the sweet taste. In and out, he wants more. She needs more.

Reluctantly she pulls away, seeking air and she tastes him everywhere. She sinks her teeth into his earlobe and feels a cool draft as she feels his hand slide up into her skirt and splay against her thigh. She moves against him, pressing herself against him a show of lust that is primeval.

'We should go inside…' it’s all she can manage to say.

She hears him chuckle but he doesn’t move. It occurs to her that his intention is right here, against this tree and she whimpers at the thought.

He pulls away at her reaction, his eyes study hers for a moment and he sees this woman he loves, whom he waited for. The reason he cursed himself for not going to England, in whose bed he had slept and whose memory had fulled his dreams. He sees his future. 

Her soft hands guide his face to hers for another kiss as both his hands work her skirt up over her thighs, his fingers creeping up her body and trying to control her restless curves. Louisa takes advantage of his distraction and finds his trouser buttons. They ping away, one lost forever on the ground.

Her hot fingers stroke his naked length, a gentle growl escapes his throat as he leans into the skin at the hollow of her shoulder and her neck, trying to absorb her through his lips, exchanging touch for taste. He lifts her up, her legs locking around his waist and he props her onto the tree, feeling the brush of satin against him as his body presses hard against hers. His hand slides between them, pushing the material aside.

'Spiro…'

The sound of her voice is the final break of his self control. A fevered moan escapes him as he surges forward, his hunger unrestrained.

Louisa feels his fingers on her thighs. It has been too long, too much time with only dreams of him. She gasps his name, as he fills and stretches her. She sees this beautiful man finally loose control and she is amazed that she can do this to him. His hips thrust against her with no rhythm, in and out, again and again as she responds to his pace. He feels her shudder and arch her body. Her head falls forward, her mouth biting into his shoulder as she holds back a scream only barely aware that they’re still outside. He follows her, so fast and so hard it’s almost painful in it’s sweetness.

'Inside,' she breathes eventually, as her heart beats double time, louder than the crickets.

'I am,' he grins into her hair.

She swats his shoulder and gently he lets her down, pulls down her skirt and scrabbles at his buttons. He holds her tight as they stumble inside. 

In the still of the villa, she cleans the debris of her journey away, nobody will be home for hours and she enjoys the solitude. Wrapping herself in a robe she slips into bed, listening to the sounds of Spiro in the house, hearing him making her a cup of tea, the water running as he bathes. She’s moved by the intimacy of these actions and lulled into a half-awake state. 

The door creaks open and Spiro slips into the room. His hair is at all angles and he’s naked as the day he was born. She watches him fold his clothes, hanging up his trousers in the wardrobe and then stretch. He flashes a glance over his shoulder in her direction and immediately knows she’s watching, there’s smile on her lips. 

Louisa isn’t sure what to feast her eyes on first. She wants all of him. He is a work of art from his chest and his stomach, dappled in the fading sunlight, the light showing a network of muscles, down to his very obvious need and his long shapely legs. She breaths and closes her eyes with a gentle smile, committing him and this moment to memory. She feels him drop onto the bed, kneeling between her legs.

'I love you.'

'I love you too.'

She smiles up at his gentle face, her eyes talking to him when words fail and she knows that he has understood she is okay. Then gently she traces a path with her fingertips down his face, over his chest, down, taking him in her hand, touching, stroking and feeling the veins, gasping at the movement of his hips.

He watches her and oh-so gently removes her hand, taking both of hers in one of his and stretches them over her head with the luxurious grin of a content man. Below him she wriggles, her eyes flashing with fun. Her excitement is the only aphrodisiac that he needs and he is gobsmacked that she is in their bed, wrapping herself naked in the sheets and wanting only him. His mind never dreamt up this vision even if his heart may have desired it.

He holds her hips down with his other free hand and studies her. His slip of concentration is her reward as he lets his grip on her hands soften. Immediately she sits up and drags his mouth down to her for a kiss. Growing in confidence, her tongue replicates his actions of earlier and it is her turn to invade his mouth. In and out, slow and then fast, with more passion. Gasping for air she lies back on the bed, and he falls with her. His hands waste no time in exploring her and where his fingers fall his tongue follows.

His eyes are heavy now as they gaze at her but his countenance is strained as he tries to keep his desire under control. His knees nudge her legs apart and she arches closer to him. He drives in, feeling her surround him and pull him deeper, welcoming him home. Then, on one long stroke, he pulls out and before she can complain he flips her over and pulls her onto her knees and slams back into her. Bracing himself with one hand he plays her like an instrument and hears the music of her cries and he sings with her. 

It’s the only music they want to hear.


End file.
